Dream Receivers
A dream lay on the beach.
Like a stone pounded smooth.
Gently sweetened by the sea unclaimed.
Beauty unrecognized as scores pass by.
Dead-and-slag-eyed.
Too often a devil comes along.
Gleans it from a deserving palm.
Skips it across the cold backbone of the sea.
Until it settles into the blackest ink.
Time and tide will retrieve it again.
The dream receiver is long since dead.
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